


Dirty Young Man

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Aurors, Bachelor Auction, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Charity Auctions, Community: hp_crossgenfest, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Top James Sirius Potter, Topping from the Bottom, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-13 16:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: Draco can no longer hide his feelings when given the chance to win a date with James Sirius Potter.





	Dirty Young Man

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to my beta, L!

Draco was a dirty old man. He couldn’t deny it.

He was nearing fifty, with grey licking his hairline and wrinkles lining his face. He had no business fixating on men half his age. The problem was that he couldn’t stop thinking about James Sirius Potter.

They were Aurors, though James was young enough to still receive field assignments while Draco was stuck behind a desk. _Think of it as a privilege_ , old Shacklebolt had said. Draco thought of it as a prison sentence. 

James had been barely out of Hogwarts when he was first hired on. Even then, he’d been mouth-watering to look at. His hair was not as dark as his father’s, though it was just as messy. His eyes were big and hazel with eyelashes that were far too _feminine_. He had a splattering of freckles across his nose. Draco wondered if he had freckles on his shoulders, too.

They’d worked together for a good five years, and Draco had done his best to stay away. No one could know about his feelings. At his age, it was embarrassing to drool over someone so young. It was pathetic. A fit bloke of twenty-five had no interest in dinosaurs like Draco. To even wish it crossed a line.

He couldn’t ignore his desire. Being close to James made his palms sweat. He liked staring at James’ arse in lifts and queues. He sat near him at meetings so he could breathe his cologne and watch his shoulders flex while he took notes. 

All of it was a secret that lit up Draco’s boring work days. It was acceptable only if no one ever found out.

*

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Shacklebolt said during a department meeting in July. “The time has come.”

They all groaned. Everyone knew what he was talking about. The Ministry and St Mungo’s had a long history of teaming up to raise Galleons for charity. This usually meant Aurors and Healers took turns embarrassing themselves at fancy dress galas and booze-filled auctions.

“Hush, or I’ll sack the lot of you.” Shacklebolt said this frequently, though nobody ever knew if he was serious. He’d gotten quite crabby in his old age. “I need at least five volunteers for the St Mungo’s auction.”

“You mean sacrificial lambs,” Draco muttered.

Shacklebolt glared at him. “Is this you volunteering?”

“No, sir,” he said quickly.

“Then shut up.” Shacklebolt tapped his wand against the table. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

“I’ll do it,” James said.

Draco stared at him.

James seemed to feel his eyes. “It’s my way of giving back to the department,” he said, his ears turning pink.

“Good man,” Shacklebolt said, then glared at the rest of them. “Who else?”

A few other colleagues raised their hands, but it was difficult for Draco to pay attention. His heart beat so hard it muffled his hearing. James was putting himself up for _auction_. Somebody would pay to have dinner with him. Somebody might even want to _shag_ him. Draco felt the blood drain from his face.

After the meeting, James found him in the breakroom battling with their leaky kettle. It wasn’t unusual for James to strike up a conversation with him, but he never let himself relax when they interacted. 

“Pour me some water, too?” James leaned against the counter, his Auror robes stretched tight across his chest. 

Sometimes, Draco hated him for being so fit.

“Sure, if I can get the stupid thing to work.” Draco hit the kettle with his wand a few times, hoping that’d do the trick. He’d fixed a sodding magical cabinet at sixteen, though this kettle just might be the thing that undid him.

“I heard someone Jinxed it.”

“And what exactly must I do to get it to work properly?”

James grinned. “Talk dirty to it.”

Draco felt his face warm. Fuck. He _would not_ blush. Not at his age.

“You’re taking the piss.”

James shrugged. “Nope. That’s what I heard.”

“And you _believed_ it?”

“Sure, why not?” James cocked his head. “You should give it a go.”

He felt a flash of anger. James was toying with him, and he didn’t appreciate it. He leaned against the counter, too, and let his eyes roam over James’ body. Two could play this game.

“How dirty should I get?”

James didn’t look moved. He leaned a little closer. “You should start slow. See how it responds to you.” He said this easily, like they were talking Quidditch strategy.

“Slow and dirty sounds nice,” Draco whispered, “though my guess is the kettle likes it fast and hard.”

James wet his bottom lip. He began to respond, but then somebody walked into the breakroom. They startled apart. 

“Sorry,” said Rachael, one of the newer recruits. “Mind if I use the kettle?”

“It leaks,” James said.

“Yeah, I heard.” She tapped her wand against it and filled it with water. “Ah, I think I fixed it.” 

Draco glared at James, who just shrugged.

“I didn’t say I was _right_.”

“I’m going to the canteen,” Draco said, teeth gritted.

*

Truth be told, James didn’t care for family dinner. He hated the nagging questions, the awkward silences. He wanted to be home, in his flat, with his big screen telly and cold bottles of beer.

“Want a drink?” his dad asked.

“Sure, if you’re having one.”

His dad glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the family. “Yeah, I’ll have one.”

They grabbed two beers and went up to the lounge.

“What’s new?” His dad dropped down on the sofa.

James took up a nearby chair. He sipped his stout, contemplating what was safe to bring up. “I’m auctioning myself off for charity.”

“Oh, for St Mungo’s! When is it?”

“Ah . . . in two weeks?” James grimaced. “Please don’t go.”

“Christ, no.” His dad laughed. “Are you hoping an attractive woman will bid on you?”

“Sure,” he said, not wanting to ruin the mood. Then he became angry at himself. “Scratch that. I want a man to win the bid.”

“Oh.” His dad fiddled with the label on his beer. “I’m sorry . . . your mum and I are still learning.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been learning for _years_. How much longer do you need?”

“I want to show you something.”

They wandered upstairs to his dad’s study. On his ancient desk was a pile of photographs. James picked one up to examine it. 

“Do you recognize me?”

“Of course.” The photograph was of his dad when he was around twelve. James thumbed through the others. “What are you doing with them?”

“Cataloguing them.” His dad sat down in his swivel chair. “A lot of my classmates died during the war. I don’t want them to be forgotten.”

James perched on the corner of his desk. He didn’t understand why his dad was showing him this. “Do you need help, or -?”

“Nope.” He smiled softly. “Tons of things have changed since my childhood.”

“Yeah.”

“When I was a kid, everyone was straight.”

James rolled his eyes. “Not true.”

“No, listen to me. Nobody was openly gay. It just wasn’t a thing.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I’m sure I had gay classmates, but they hid it.”

“Like Draco Malfoy?”

He looked at James blankly. “What?”

“Oh, nevermind. My point is that you definitely had openly gay classmates; you just didn’t see the clues.”

“Not once did people mention a same sex relationship.”

“To _you_. No one said anything to you because they knew you were straight. You weren’t invited to the club.”

He snorted. “There wasn’t a _club_. Your aunt, uncle, and I were quite the sleuths. If there was a gay club, we would’ve heard about it.”

“Do you realize how dismissive you sound?”

His dad hesitated. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“No, you’re not!” James stood to put some space between them. “You have a very particular way of remembering your past and you’re determined to force it on me.”

They didn’t speak for a minute or two. 

“Malfoy’s gay?” his dad said finally.

“Yeah,” James said, hating that he’d brought it up. 

“But . . . he was married to a woman. He has a child.”

James rolled his eyes. “People get married and have kids for all sorts of reasons.”

His dad frowned deeply. “I understand people change, but it’s . . . _Malfoy_.”

“Let’s just drop it. I don’t need to hear about your rivalry.”

“Wait a minute.” His dad searched through the photographs. “Here we go.”

James moved closer to peer over his shoulder. It was a photograph of Malfoy. James stared. “When was that taken?”

“Dunno . . . maybe in our eighth year.” He looked at James closely. “Here. Take it. I’ve got others.”

“No.” He tried to move away but his dad pushed the photograph into his hands. As casually as possible, he slid it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

Sighing, his dad rose from his chair and went to the blackened fireplace. He gazed at the family portraits on the mantel. “Please be patient with me. I’m trying very hard.”

“I know.” He wanted to go to his father, but he didn’t know what to say. He pressed his hand to his pocket, feeling the picture there like a heat. “I’m sure dinner’s ready. Let’s go downstairs.”

“Yes,” his dad said, distracted.

*

That night, when he was finally at home, James fished the photograph out of his pocket. He wandered to his sofa and slumped down. Christ. Draco at eighteen was _hypnotizing_.

James stared at the photograph. He Summoned a beer from his fridge, then Spelled it open without looking away. 

Draco had been so fucking young when he joined Voldemort’s ranks. It was something that James admired about him. He was a survivor. He’d faced ultimate evil and cruelty, and somehow he’d still salvaged his life. His dad also faced Voldemort, but in a different way. He had always been the hero. Even when the Ministry had turned its back on him. Even when Dumbledore ignored him. There’d always been that prophecy, that undeniable truth that _Harry Potter was good_. Not so for Draco. He was surprised Draco hadn’t told the whole world to piss off. 

Draco looked better now. The kid in the photograph was pale, almost feeble looking, like he’d just suffered a great shock. His eyes glinted with suppressed hatred. His hair was cut short and his school robes hung off him like they were secondhand. James wished he could travel back in time. He wanted to comfort this young man. 

James set aside the photograph. He drank deeply from his beer, knowing what he wanted to do next. Shame warmed his face even though he was utterly alone. Taking a deep breath, he Summoned the Auror picture. 

About a year ago, the Ministry had forced its employees to take promotional group pictures. Everyone feared they’d end up in the _Prophet_ in their awkward work clothes, their forced smiles more like grimaces. So far, it hadn’t happened.

He stared at the photograph of Draco and him. The photographer, catching them chatting in the breakroom, had yelled, “Get cozy!” James had pulled Draco close and draped an arm over his shoulders. Draco had grabbed his waist.

The touch had been spontaneous and hot as hell. James still shivered thinking about it. Draco’s hand holding him at the waist like he was a girl, like he was something nice to grab. 

Fuck, he was getting a stiffy. He’d wanked enough to this pic that his cock took notice without much work.

He spelled off his trousers and pants. He got comfortable, widening his thighs, fluffing up his sofa cushions. He would enjoy this. He didn’t care. No one was here to see him. 

He muttered a hovering spell, then Conjured up some lube. He stroked himself slowly, almost lazily, his eyes trained on the photograph. Draco was blushing, he was sure of it. Draco seemed to know that he’d made a mistake, or maybe he was just embarrassed about his photo being taken. 

Draco had the sexiest fucking mouth. He really did. Sure, his lips were pretty thin, but they looked soft and inviting. The shape of his mouth was cruel and hard, but those lips were probably nice to kiss and nibble. James wanted to bite his bottom lip, hard, worrying it, as he made Draco come. 

Oh. Oh. He needed to slow down. His bollocks were already twitching, his cock stiff enough to stand upright. He drew his fingers down his shaft and wondered how Draco’s cock would feel in his hand. 

He wanted to suck Draco. He wanted to play with him. Make him whine his name. He could hear his breathy plea now: _Fuck, James. I need you_. Could he ever get Draco to call him Jamie? Probably not.

A problem: Draco was surely a top. He had to be. It was in his flashing eyes, his demanding temperament. James couldn’t imagine Draco ever trusting him enough to spread his legs for him. But James wanted it. Merlin, he wanted it so much. 

He quickened his strokes, his toes curling. He wanted to fuck Draco’s arse. He wanted to make the older man submit to him. He wanted to force his thighs apart and work his way into his tight, tight hole. It wouldn’t be easy. Draco would fight him. He’d laugh at him just to be a prat. When James slid in to the hilt, trembling, moaning, Draco would blink at him. “Are you sure you’re in me? I can barely feel you.”

“Bastard,” James muttered, now fucking his fist, imagining it was a wet, wet hole. He heard Draco’s moans, felt his quivering body beneath him. James’ cock would brush over his prostate and Draco, gasping, would whisper: “Such a good boy.”

James came hard, splattering his stomach, drenching his fist. He’d pulled up his shirt to his neck, but some it still dampened the fabric. When he’d calmed down, he grimaced at the mess he’d made and pawed for his wand to clean himself up.

Merlin, he was pathetic. He was obsessed with a man who was the same age as his father. Draco thought of him as a child, as some shithead novice who didn’t know his place. 

“Isn’t nepotism just grand?” Draco had said to James his first day on the job.

Sighing, James let his head fall back on the sofa.

*

Draco didn’t like St Mungo’s. He hated being around the sick and dying. It reminded him too much of the war.

The charity auction was held in a posh ballroom with large enchanted windows and a ceiling that glowed like pink dusk. He had spent an exceedingly long time getting ready; he’d changed fancy robes three times and tried five different styling charms on his hair. Nervous sweat licked his forehead, his jaw, and it took everything in him not to cast an anti-sweating charm. He was convinced people could _smell_ the desperation on him.

He drowned his flute of champagne and waited for the auction to begin. Was he brave enough to watch? There was no way he could bid on James; he cared too deeply. He’d end up emptying his vaults and scaring the poor bloke.

He caught sight of himself in a mirror, and nearly startled. Merlin, he was old. He looked tired and worn out; the wrinkles hugging his mouth were deeper than he’d remembered. Even the terrific cut of his fancy robes couldn’t distract from his _age_. Fuck. He should just take himself home, eat a box of biscuits, and wait for death.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Shacklebolt growled at his side.

Draco glanced at him. “It’s not like I had any choice.”

“No, you didn’t.” The lights dimmed and a hush came over the audience. Shacklebolt glared at him. “Get closer to the stage. I don’t want you to miss a thing.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, his heart hammering. He slipped into the front row.

George Weasley was the announcer. Balding, a little pudgy around the middle, but still cracking nonstop jokes, he was more legend than businessman. 

“Good evening! Welcome to the Ministry and St Mungo’s annual charity auction. I know most of you were forced to be here, so let’s get this embarrassment started!” He sent Shacklebolt a big wink.

The crowd tittered and shot Shacklebolt nervous glances.

“First up is a young recruit who finally managed to move out of her mum’s basement: Rachael Rodney!” 

Rachael appeared on the stage, blushing faintly. She smiled and gave an awkward wave. 

“Rachael graduated top of her class, and more impressively, debt-free! She really knows how to treat a date. What she lacks in experience, she makes up in sheer desperation! The bidding starts at fifty Galleons.”

Tim Bradshaw, another Auror recruit, waved his wand. 

“Young gentleman in the front bids Fifty Galleons. Who will top this?”

“Sixty Galleons!” said Tiffany Smith, a mate of Rachael’s. 

Draco shifted his feet. He really hoped the bidding for James was just as low key.

“Come on now,” George said. “This is for charity! Think of the poor, injured children!”

“One Hundred Galleons!” yelled Tim. 

“Wow, what a fortune,” George said. “One Hundred Galleons going once, going twice, sold to the cheapskate in the front!”

Draco hated that they said _sold_ like the Aurors and Healers were property. 

“Next is a fit young Auror who really knows how to use his wand! Don’t faint ladies, don’t drool gentlemen. Kingsley, don’t glare too much. Please, you’re scaring us! Welcome to the stage: James Sirius Potter!”

Draco’s stomach lurched. He didn’t know if he imagined it, but the crowd seemed to perk up. James walked onto stage, and he looked _delicious_. He’d attempted to tame his hair, his face fresh-shaved and smooth from a magical moisturizer.

Immediately, someone called out: “Two hundred Galleons!”

“Someone’s excited!” George said.

Draco craned his neck. It’d been a male voice, but he couldn’t see the man.

“Two fifty!” yelled Miranda Minks from Records and Processing. Draco’s mouth went dry; he always thought old Miranda watched James too closely, and now he had proof. 

“Three hundred!” Draco yelled without thinking. From the stage, James peered down at him, startled.

“Three fifty!” said the mysterious man in the crowd.

Miranda flushed a bright red. “Four hundred!”

“Four twenty-five!” countered the man. 

Panicking, Draco imagined this mysterious man taking James home. He imagined them kissing desperately, rutting together, as James’ eyes rolled back from the pleasure. 

“Five hundred Galleons!” Draco feared he sounded too desperate. 

Some in the crowd exclaimed, others laughed. George smirked at him. 

“Anyone want to challenge Mr Malfoy? He looks ready for a duel.”

Miranda and the mysterious man remained quiet. Draco’s heart pumped so quickly that his vision and hearing blurred. He felt like the entire ballroom was staring at him.

“Going once, going twice, sold to Malfoy, who hopefully isn’t James’ direct supervisor! Human resources would hate that, wouldn’t they!”

The audience laughed, but Draco was stunned. Everyone now knew, didn’t they? Everyone knew he fancied James. 

Stage assistants pointed him to the side to connect with James, but Draco peered over heads to glimpse the man who’d wanted a date with James. _Who was he?_

“This way, Mr Malfoy!”

He followed the assistant to a little alcove behind the stage. James caught his eye and smiled nervously. 

“Here are the coordinates to the Magical Lanesborough,” said the assistant. “Have you heard of it?”

“Vaguely,” Draco said.

“Dinner, champagne, and the room are provided. Anything extra will be out of pocket. Mr Malfoy, please sign this so we can take your donation directly from your vault.”

He signed the glowing contract, his hand shaking a bit. 

The assistant beamed. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen!”

“So.” James hovered next to him. “Do you want to leave now?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Draco said, and his voice trembled slightly. _Fuck._

James seemed unable to properly look at Draco. “Do you want to Side-Along, or -?”

“Do you know the location of this hotel?”

“Yeah.” James paused. “Do you?”

“Perhaps,” Draco said stiffly. 

“Let’s go together so there’s no chance you’ll get lost.”

“Okay.” Draco knew he was being awkward, stilted. He knew he was only making the situation worse, but he couldn’t bloody relax. 

James moved closer. Searching Draco’s face for some sign, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled them together. “Ready?” he breathed.

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to answer. They turned together and disappeared with a _pop_. 

They reappeared in a marble lobby, still wrapped together. Draco felt James’ strong arms, his warm chest. For a second, he stared at James’ heartbeat thudding in his neck. He pulled away, embarrassed that he’d hesitated.

“Wow,” James said, looking around them.

The hotel was more posh than what Draco had expected. He blinked up at the crystal chandelier and floral ceiling pattern.

They wandered to the front desk, retrieved their key, then made their way up to their room. 

Draco paused in the doorway. There was a bottle of champagne floating in the air. Rose petals trailed from the door to the bed.

“A bit overdone,” James said.

“Yeah.” Draco pushed the door shut and moved into the room. His hands trembled again. He wanted to hold them behind his back or cross his arms. Instead, he sat down at the small table and forced a bland, pleasant expression. 

James sat down opposite him. Their feet touched, but neither moved away. 

“You paid a lot for me.”

Draco shrugged. “I was merely showing my gratitude to the department.”

James laughed. “It’s okay if you want to shag me.” He flushed when he said this, but he gazed bravely into Draco’s eyes.

Draco was incensed. “I don’t need to pay for sex!” He knew he was using anger to cover up his fear. Merlin. It really looked like James was coming onto him.

“ _Of course_ you don’t! Anybody who has eyes knows that.”

They stared at each other. Draco gulped. _Control yourself._ He loved this dance. He knew it well. He was _good_ at it. But he shouldn’t do it with James. Not with a man his age. Not with Harry Potter’s son.

Draco straightened in his chair. He lifted his chin. “I have no interest in you.”

James flinched. Emotions flashed across his features: shock, disappointment, curiosity. It was pathetic that Draco could read him this well. 

“Not even a little?” James leaned in. 

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He leaned in more, his breath hot on Draco’s lips.

Draco stood abruptly. He went to the door like he was about to flee. James followed him.

“We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Snorting, Draco said, “This whole situation makes me uncomfortable!”

James frowned. “But you paid five hundred Galleons for this.”

“Yes, but you’re not some sort of prostitute. I didn’t realize that you’d expect a shag from me!” It was stupid, but jealousy flared within Draco. Was James that much of a slag? Had he planned to fuck whoever won the auction?

James seemed to know what he was thinking. “I didn’t plan this,” he said quietly. “I’m only coming onto you because it’s _you_.” His chest beat up and down, and his blush was back. 

“Stop saying such things!” Draco turned away from him, too much of a coward to remain facing him. 

James stepped closer. “I don’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“Bloody Gryffindors.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Let’s have dinner and just chat.”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at him. “What the hell are we going to talk about?”

James shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve been reading a lot of good books recently. Do you read?”

“Yes,” Draco said stiffly.

“See? We’ll talk about that.”

James picked up the phone and tapped his wand to the receiver. “Hello? Room service? Yes, we would like dinner.” He looked at Draco. “Salmon or beef?”

“Beef.” Draco fiddled with his sleeve. 

“Two of the beef. Yes, thank you.”

A knock came on the door a minute later. Draco startled and cursed under his breath. James went to the door to accept the food.

Once they were settled at the table, dinner spread out in front of them, champagne bubbling in their flutes, they stared down at their beef and potatoes like it held all of life’s answers. The only sound was their cutlery clinking against porcelain.

Finally, Draco muttered, “So, what books have you read?” 

“Loads.” James sat back, chewing. “Do you read fiction or nonfiction?”

“Both.”

“Have you read any Glendola Libby?”

Draco blinked. He surprised himself by smiling. “I just finished her latest book.”

“Me too! The ending was shit.”

Laughing, Draco said, “Yeah, it wasn’t her best. I don’t believe for a second that house elf killed the mum because it was jealous.”

“Yeah, I didn’t believe that, either. So, Minny didn’t like that the mum was spending too much time with the other house elves, but so what? Did they have a special bond or something? Libby doesn’t explain it at all!”

“And the subplot about the time traveling vampires. Good grief!”

“Do you know anything about that group of vampires she was talking about?”

Draco laughed again. “Of course! They are infamous for murdering three hundred witches and wizards during the Muggle Crusades. And, again, I don’t believe for a second they would _time travel_ just to nick a chalice from some house elves.”

“Did you know that chalice was real?” James was grinning.

“No, I didn’t. You must’ve paid more attention in History of Magic than me.”

“I didn’t learn any of this from Hogwarts.” James licked some potato from his fork, utterly relaxed. “I own tons of books about our involvement in those crusades. It was a mad time.”

“I like that,” Draco said without thinking. 

James flushed and glanced down at his plate. Draco felt an intense rush of attraction. He wanted to touch James’ bare skin. He wanted to undress James slowly, worshipfully. He wanted to spread his legs so wide for him, desperate, dripping. _Please_ , he’d whisper. _Fuck me._

“Who was the man also bidding on you?”

“Oh.” James laughed. “It was Hugo. I asked him to disguise himself and bid on me so I didn’t get stuck with anyone I didn’t want.”

“We must’ve left him very confused.”

“Yeah, probably.” 

A few minutes passed in awkward silence. James finished off his champagne and poured himself some more.

“The beef is very good,” Draco said.

“Yeah.” James pushed his food around on his plate, not eating anymore. He drained his flute in record time and poured himself a third. Draco watched this, not sure how he felt. James was on the path to getting utterly pissed. 

“I didn’t know you were such a drinker.”

“I’m not.” James laughed. “You just make me nervous.”

“Oh?” Draco cocked an eyebrow. “It must be my superiority in the office.”

“Uh, not really.”

Draco rolled his eyes, smiling a little. He had no idea where this conversation was going, why they were even having it. The whole thing felt reckless.

James guzzled some more champagne. “I fancy intelligent blokes.”

“That’s nice.”

“I mean it. I’m clever, so I want my boyfriend to be, too.”

Draco tried not to shiver at his use of _boyfriend_. He hesitated, not sure if he was brave enough to respond. “Do you think I’m clever?”

“Oh, yes. I think you could teach me so much.” He lisped a little, his lips wet from the alcohol. Draco wanted to taste his mouth. 

“I’m quite familiar with vampire history, especially their relations with Muggles.” 

James groaned. “Keep on talking. It’s so damn _hot_.”

“You’re drunk. I should leave you to sober up.”

“No! Don’t go!” James shot out of his chair, which alarmed Draco.

Draco stood. “You are too excited. You are telling me things that would embarrass you without the aid of alcohol. I should leave before you say anything more.” He went to the door, his shoulders spiky. In the back of his mind, he knew he was fleeing, but he didn’t want to stay and start _believing_ any of this.

James followed, his mouth open. He grabbed Draco’s shoulder and gently turned him around. James kissed him, and he tasted overwhelmingly of champagne. Shuddering, Draco pulled away.

“No. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” James dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth to Draco’s groin, tonguing the fabric.

“Stop.” Draco couldn’t handle what he was seeing.

“Please. I want you.”

“You’re too drunk. You don’t want me. Not really.”

James rested his forehead on Draco’s stomach. “Merlin, you smell amazing. Believe me, I want you. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

“Then you can wait a little longer. I won’t take advantage of you.” Draco couldn’t breathe. It would be so easy to give in, to believe this begging young man, but he knew that a single mistake could change everything. He didn’t want to be James’ mistake.

“Please.”

Shaking his head, Draco opened the door. “We’ll talk when you’ve regained control of yourself.” Without looking at James, he fled from the room.

*

James was an idiot. He was a moron. He was the biggest prat to ever live. He dreaded seeing Draco again.

He swallowed down his fear and returned to work. He kept to his cubicle and avoided the breakroom. He yearned for tea, but he was convinced he’d melt into the floor if he saw Draco.

Fuck. He’d thrown himself at the older man. He’d _dropped to his knees_. Fuck. Fuck. And what had Draco done? He’d _walked away_.

When he finally did run into Draco in the office, it was awkward, so, so awkward. Draco glanced at him once, then seemed to completely forget his existence. When he passed James in the hall, he looked straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away.

James wondered if he should apologize. It was obvious that he’d offended Draco, but he didn’t know if he had the courage. He wasn’t his father after all. He didn’t blindly charge into situations; he lingered before acting; he let the fear into his heart, his mind. Fuck. He was doomed.

He considered talking to his dad about it, but the shock might’ve killed him. Potter men didn’t shag Malfoys. It just wasn’t done. He was supposed to hate Draco like his dad. He was supposed to continue the rivalry. 

After a week, James couldn’t take it anymore. He had to speak to Draco. He wanted to just move past the bloody auction. He would find a way to get over Draco. It would just take some time.

On Friday evening, he took a deep breath and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He’d never been, and the sight of the property was breathtaking. He approached the large gates, wondering if they would let him pass. He touched his hand to the iron, and the gates opened for him. 

“Huh,” he said, and pressed on. Gravel crunched under his feet, thick foliage swaying on either side. It took a few moments before the elegant Manor came into view. The wealth astonished him. 

When he reached the front steps, the large door flew open. Draco stood in the doorway, his eyes stormy. 

“Are you drunk again?”

James flinched. “No.”

“What do you want?”

“I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Come in, then.” Draco went back inside. 

James hesitated in the dark foyer, not sure which direction to go.

“In here,” Draco called, and he followed the voice. 

Draco was in a warm study, a fire crackling behind his desk. He clutched at his chair, his face pale and tight.

James didn’t know how to start. He gulped, his heart pounding in his throat. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t _offend_ me.”

“Oh. I’m glad.” There was a horrible, stiff pause. James sucked in a breath. “Everything I said was the truth.” He watched Draco closely.

Draco didn’t immediately react. “I’m too old for you.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Your father would kill me. All of wizarding Britain would kill me.”

“It doesn’t have to be anyone’s business but our own.”

Draco snorted. “You’re the son of Harry Potter. Of course people will know.”

“Do you not want me?” James’ voice was small.

Draco turned away. He stared into the fire. “It’s not about desire. I don’t want you to regret anything. We are not a good match.”

Inching closer, James said, “How do you know?”

“I’m a former Death Eater who tried to murder your father. I’m twice your age. It doesn’t take a genius to see that we aren’t compatible.”

“I don’t care about any of that. The only thing that matters is if you feel the same way.” He paused, and he was so incredibly unsteady. “I want you, Draco.”

Draco turned back to glare at him. “Stop saying that! It’s ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not. I want you. I’ve wanted you for _years_. Please, I just want one chance to show you.” 

“Show me what? How much we could ruin each other’s lives?”

James stared into his cold eyes. “How well I can suck your cock.”

“Stop.” Draco shuddered. 

“Please.” He pressed forward until he stood right in front of Draco. He dropped to his knees. “Let me show you.”

“No,” Draco said, but his hips jerked forward. Hands trembling, James unclasped his robes, then his trousers. He hesitated for only a second before pulling out his cock.

“Fuck,” James said, because Draco’s cock was mouthwatering. He stroked it a few times, loving that he felt it harden in his hand. 

Draco’s mouth fell open. He stared down at James. 

“You want me to suck it?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

James licked the tip, tasting salt. “Like that?”

“More.” Draco cradled his head.

“But . . . I thought you didn’t want this?”

Draco whined softly. “I don’t want to tarnish you. You shine too brightly.”

“Such poetry.” James suckled his cock, his tongue working along the head. 

“Prat,” Draco said, thrusting into his mouth.

“Yes.”

Draco watched his cock move in and out of his mouth. James stared up at him, and he knew he looked debauched. “Merlin, you’re beautiful.”

“Take me to bed.”

Stepping back, Draco grabbed his hand and drew him upstairs. The Manor was cold and dark, filled with cold and dark antiques. It must’ve been a sad place to live alone. 

His bedroom was large with ornate furnishings and rich green curtains and rugs. It was too shadowy to pin down the color of the bedding, but James suspected it was a deep emerald. 

Draco undressed them and maneuvered James onto the bed.

“Such a pretty cock.” Draco ran a finger up his shaft, then dipped a finger in some precome at the slit. “Are you going to fuck me with your pretty cock?”

“Fuck.” James was trembling. He couldn’t believe Draco wanted to take his cock. 

“I don’t know.” Draco danced his fingers up and down his shaft. “Do you think you can handle me?”

James gulped. “ _Yes_.” He wanted to force Draco onto his stomach, spread his toned cheeks, and eat him out until they both forgot their names, but he hesitated. Something told him to let Draco call the shots. 

Draco kissed him deeply, and they both moaned when their tongues brushed. 

“Please,” James said.

“Do you need my arse?”

“Merlin.”

“Is that a yes or a no? I’m so tight and desperate for you.”

“Fuck. It’s a yes. _Of course_ it’s a yes.”

“Such a dirty young man,” Draco whispered.

“You’ve no idea.”

Draco muttered a lube spell. He reached around to finger himself open, his eyes trained on James. “I don’t need much prep. I fingered myself raw after the auction.”

“Oh,” James said, panting.

“Does that turn you on? Imagining me fucking myself to thoughts of you?”

“Draco.” James squirmed. “Please.”

“You want to be inside me?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

James nodded hurriedly. He clutched at Draco’s warm thighs.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please . . . I want to fuck you. Please let me fuck you.”

Draco laughed. He got into position, then slowly worked James’ cock inside him. They both gasped and trembled. James dug his nails into Draco’s thighs.

When he was fully inside, he thrust carefully, watching Draco’s expression. Draco’s face crumbled in pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Draco breathed. 

James flipped them over, needing more. He thrust over and over, moaning, shaking. 

“I need you harder.” Draco arched up. 

“Yes.” Sweat spilled into his eyes. He sped up his thrusting, which made Draco moan loudly.

“I need your come.”

“Fuck, Draco.”

“I need you to fill me up.”

“Yes, yes.”

Draco kissed his chin, licked his neck. He whispered: “I need you, Jamie.”

James came hard, almost shouting. His orgasm took him by surprise, but he couldn’t stop it, his whole body nothing but a hot flash of pleasure. Distantly, he felt Draco clench around him, felt his knuckles working frantically against his belly, and he knew Draco was coming, too.

It took them a while to calm down. James slumped against Draco, sweaty, utterly exhausted. 

“You called me Jamie.”

Draco laughed softly. He pushed James’ hair from his forehead. “I did.”

“I fucking love that.”

“Good.”

James hesitated. “Let me take you on a proper date. Fancy restaurant. Posh robes. All of it.”

Sighing, Draco said, “I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2018 Harry Potter Cross Gen Fest. The author will be revealed on August 31.


End file.
